Au Reservoir (28 page)

‘By the way,’ Elizabeth said, in a rather ominous tone of voice, ‘I ran into Mrs Collins when I was changing my library book earlier. Her husband is on the committee of the golf club, you know.’

‘Ah,’ the Major said non-committally.

‘Apparently he’s very upset that one of his candidates, Mr Gillings from the garage I think, has been refused membership because of something you wrote in the objections book.’

‘Not the right sort of chap,’ the Major said curtly. ‘Wouldn’t have fitted in at all. Kindest thing for everybody.’

‘She also said,’ she continued, very grimly indeed, ‘that the committee was concerned about the size of your bar bill.’

T
he next day Georgie and Lucia were invited to London to agree the final designs for the opera house development, though Lucia had some time ago declined, as she needed to be in Tilling to oversee the final preparations for the bridge tournament.

It was a fine day in London and Georgie found himself hoping, as he travelled across town by taxi, that this presaged fair weather for the bridge tournament the next day. Arriving at Covent Garden during the day when the foyer was empty, rather than in the evening when it was full of brilliantly dressed people and resounded to brilliantly dressed chatter, was still a novel experience. When he came to meet Olga, he always went to the stage door.

A few minutes later found him in David Webster’s office.

‘Pillson, my dear fellow,’ Webster enthused, shaking him by the hand, ‘come in, come in. I have something to show you.’

‘Yes, some plans, I believe,’ Georgie said.

‘Oh, much better than that, come and see.’

He led the way to a small table upon which was laid out an architect’s model of how the fully developed building would appear. The new wing housing the rehearsal facilities and a small studio for workshop performances nestled snuggly against the main building. Everything looked crisp and white and new.

‘Oh, how parfect,’ Georgie breathed.

Webster chuckled.

‘It can’t be opened up like a magic box, I’m afraid, but take a look at these.’

So saying, he showed him some artist’s impressions of the interior both of the new wing and of the backstage area. Georgie was particularly happy to see that the new changing rooms seemed much more snug than before. Olga was always complaining about the draughts, not to mention the appalling sounds the pipes made every time she turned on the hot water tap.

‘And the plumbing?’ he asked airily, with, he hoped, all the insouciance of a man well versed in major property projects. ‘That has been taken care of, I suppose?’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ Webster said, rubbing his hands. ‘Thanks to your generosity, old chap, we have been able to take care of everything that has been on our “to do” list for years. Why, we are even switching to oil-fired heating and hot water so those poor chaps won’t have to toil away in the boiler room shovelling coal any more.’

‘Well, that’s all very gratifying,’ said Georgie happily.

‘I’ll show you something even more gratifying.’ Webster suddenly lowered his voice. ‘Here, sit down while I make sure we’re not disturbed.’

Georgie sat on a gorgeous little antique chair (Regency, he fancied) while Webster locked the door of his office. Returning, he took out another key and unlocked the centre drawer of his desk. Taking out what looked like yet another plan, he laid it on the desk and Georgie, craning forward, tried to inspect it but failed, as he was not wearing his glasses.

‘This,’ said Webster, ‘is the design for a commemorative plaque to be placed in the foyer downstairs after the completion of the works. I wanted you to see it. I think you’ll see why.’

‘Oh,’ Georgie said, slightly apprehensively, taking out his glasses and putting them on. He gazed afresh at the piece of paper, and his heart leapt as he read the exquisitely chiselled script.

This opera house has been extensively modernised and extended thanks to the generous patronage of Sir George Pillson, Bart.

‘Oh,’ he said again, gazing at Webster.

Webster closed one eye and laid a finger along the side of his nose.

‘Mum’s the word,’ he said. ‘I’m not supposed to say anything, which is why I wanted you to see this accidentally, as it were.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Georgie said breathlessly.

‘No need to say anything,’ Webster replied with a laugh, ‘after all, you don’t know anything about it, do you? Wait until you get the letter from Downing Street, which incidentally Norman Brook tells me should not be long delayed. There’s a special honours list coming out soon for some odds and sods that got left over from the war: generals and admirals retiring, some chaps who never got their campaign medals because of mix-ups, that sort of thing. You’ll be in that for “services to the arts”. Fitting in a way, since I understand you never got anything for those radio shows of yours during the war.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Georgie agreed, ‘though I never imagined anything like this.’

‘You’ll have to check whether your family has a coat of arms, by the way. If not, you’ll be able to apply to the College of Heralds for a Grant of Arms. I understand that, within reason, they let you design them yourself.’

‘Oh,’ Georgie said again.

All these new developments were hitting him as if ejected from a high pressure hose. He could not even begin to imagine the pleasure of designing a coat of arms, and then just think of all those happy hours he could spend embroidering it into his undergarments.

‘I say, though,’ he said suddenly. ‘What about Olga? I shall feel a bit of a fraud accepting a knighthood – a baronetcy in fact – when she will still be plain Miss Bracely. Why, she’s one of the finest opera singers in the world. If Dame Nelly Melba qualified, why doesn’t she?’

‘She’s been asked,’ Webster said, ‘and turned it down. More than once, I think. To be honest, I think that’s one reason why yours has gone through so quickly and smoothly. Norman Brook was very glad of an opportunity to do something for her.’

‘She never said anything to me about it,’ Georgie said wonderingly.

He had a sudden unwelcome thought, which cut through him like a knife. Suppose she had done some sort of deal with Norman Brook, effectively trading her ‘damery’ for his knighthood? If so, he could not possibly accept.

‘Now, how about a spot of lunch?’ Webster asked. ‘We could walk down to the Savoy and go to the Grill, if you like?’

So Georgie found himself being guided out of the opera house again. Pausing only to put on their hats, they stepped out into Bow Lane and started down towards the Strand.

‘By the way, old chap,’ Webster said thoughtfully, ‘talking of your radio show reminds me. I never could develop a liking for your recipe for cabbage stalk pie.’

‘Well,’ said Georgie with some asperity, ‘there was a war on, you know.’

Lucia was meantime usefully occupied on the telephone for fully three hours, before putting on her hat and sallying forth to the town hall to check that all the arrangements were just so. However, one of her first calls that morning was to Mr Wyse, so that when the usual gathering occurred a little later he was well briefed on the latest developments.

‘Any news?’ Mapp asked brightly, for she had resolved to ignore the nonsense about professional bridge players for the childish jealousy that it clearly was.

‘Mr Georgie up to London,’ Diva said. ‘On the train. Up to the opera house, I’ll be bound.’

‘Goodness, what a lot of upping and downing all of a sudden,’ Mapp commented. ‘I really don’t know how he doesn’t get giddy.’

Nobody else laughed, so the Major gave a short bark which might charitably have been interpreted as one.

‘Approving the final plans for the development work, I understand,’ Mr Wyse said gravely.

‘Yes, well,’ Mapp acknowledged reluctantly, ‘all very fine, I’m sure, for those who can afford such things, but I still think there’s something very fishy about it all. Why Georgie rather than Lucia? It’s her who’s always been the “gracious patroness” up until now. I don’t understand why she should suddenly change tack.’

‘I dare say it’s because Mr Georgie is keen on the opera, ye ken,’ the Padre suggested. ‘So his dear wife wanted to give him a chance to show his support, as it were.’

‘Well, I still say there’s something queer going on,’ Mapp persisted. ‘After all, Lucia never does anything without good reason. It’s always part of some carefully thought-out plan.’

The others glanced at each other in a mixture of despair and irritation.

‘Drop it, Elizabeth,’ Diva said quietly. ‘I should, really.’

‘And where is Lady Bountiful this morning, anyway?’ Mapp asked. ‘Not coming among us common folk for a laying on of hands, or a distribution of alms money? What a shame.’

The Major saw the glances which flashed around the group again and felt that the old girl might possibly be laying it on a bit thick. But before he could think of some brilliant conversational turn to change the subject on to safer ground, Mr Wyse cut in smoothly.

‘I have some news which will be of interest to anyone playing in the bridge tournament,’ he announced. ‘Which, I think, includes us all.’

He gazed around to make sure that he had everyone’s attention. He need not have worried.

‘Two pieces of news, actually,’ he continued. ‘The first is that Mrs Pillson has generously agreed to make available a further cash prize for which only teams not fielding any professional players will be eligible.’

The Padre felt a ray of sunshine pierce his being, while Irene said, predictably, ‘How like her,’ in a tone of fervent devotion.

‘How very generous indeed,’ Mapp said through clenched teeth.

‘The second will be of particular interest to you, Mrs Mapp-Flint, and you, Major.’

Mr Wyse bowed to each in turn.

‘Us?’ the Major asked uneasily.

‘Yes, indeed. I received a telephone call from Mrs Pillson this morning, during which she informed me that she had been so taken with Mrs Mapp-Flint’s idea of contracting professionals to play with her that she had decided to do the same herself.’

The Major was puzzled to note that this news was greeted with instant acclaim while their own similar tidings had been, well, not very well received. His wife was not remotely puzzled, but in the grips of a much deeper and darker emotion.

‘How very gratifying,’ she said, struggling for control, ‘that Lulu should have adopted my idea. However, I believe she will struggle to find anyone at this short notice.’

‘On the contrary,’ Mr Wyse replied. ‘I understand that she secured the services of Mr Harrison-Grey through a mutual friend in London.’

‘Oh,’ the Padre said at once, ‘but of course, I read his newspaper column. Didn’t he win the world championship last year?’

‘No,’ Mr Wyse corrected him, ‘just the European, I think.’

‘Goodness me,’ Susan commented, smiling benignly at Elizabeth, ‘just think of playing bridge against a European Champion! Why, we will be able to dine out on the story for years.’

‘Yes, aren’t we lucky?’ Mapp responded, her wide smile fixed in place. ‘Dear Lulu really will have put us on the map. So nice. So generous. So like her. Well, au reservoir all, Benjy-boy and I must get about our business.’

This time she did not wait until reaching home before saying either ‘That woman!’ or ‘It’s all so unfair!’ In fact she delivered both phrases right there in the High Street as soon as she felt the others were safely out of earshot.

‘Steady, Liz-girl,’ the Major said, glancing around uneasily.

‘Don’t you “steady” me, Benjamin Mapp-Flint,’ she retorted. ‘Don’t you see the … the infamy of it all?’

‘Not sure I follow you, old girl,’ he said. ‘Personally I thought she was jolly decent to support you on the subject of professionals when the others got in a bit of a bate about it.’

‘That’s the point!’ hissed his wife. ‘Why would she do that? Why? When has she ever said anything even remotely supportive in the past?’

Had the Major not been wearing his cap he would have scratched his head. They paused at the lookout platform and he pondered her last comment.

‘Not sure that she ever has,’ he agreed at last.

‘Well, there you are then,’ she concluded triumphantly. ‘So why did she? Now put that together with the way that she is able to produce a professional bridge payer, and the European Champion to boot, out of a hat at less than twenty-four hours’ notice and what do you have?’

‘Blessed if I know.’ He cast a yearning glance in the direction of the Trader’s Arms.

‘Oh, Benjy, how can you be so dense? Look, there’s only one explanation which fits the facts.’

‘Which is?’

‘Which is that Lulu engaged the services of this Henderson-Whatsit man some time ago and was intending to spring him and his partner on us all as a surprise at the tournament, incidentally carrying off the cash prize and the cup into the bargain of course. Then when everyone got so cross about us playing with professionals, she got up one of her nasty little conspiracies and pretended to engage him, just “to put us in our place” no doubt. Didn’t you see how positively gleeful the others all looked when they heard the news?’

‘Yes, rum do, I thought,’ the Major replied. ‘Didn’t understand that at all.’

‘It’s because they all knew it was coming!’ Elizabeth shrieked. ‘Or hoped it was, anyway. Why, I wouldn’t mind betting that it was all that hateful Irene’s idea.’

‘I thought you said it was Lucia’s?’ he asked unhelpfully.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter exactly whose idea it was in the first place, does it? All that matters is that they’ve all ganged up against us. It’s so hurtful, Benjy, when all I’ve ever tried to do is show everyone how many lies she tells.’

‘I suppose there could be another explanation,’ the Major said eventually.

‘Really?’ she said coldly.

‘Well, consider this,’ he pondered, ‘suppose that she was genuinely upset by what the others said – she did support you after all, don’t forget – and just went out and hired this johnnie as a gesture of support, as it were, to show that she didn’t think you were doing anything wrong? Female solidarity as it were, between Tilling’s two leading citizens?’